


Positive Performance Review

by BirchBow (chaoticTenebrism), LaughingStones



Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Harassment, Short Hurt Long Comfort, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticTenebrism/pseuds/BirchBow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: Everybody in R&D knows performance reviews are bad news.  It doesn't really matter if you're ruled Acceptable or not--either way, you're going to need somebody to help you through the aftermath.





	Positive Performance Review

Rich is snarking back and forth with Miguel, lounging in the door of Miguel's cubicle and basically enjoying being a distracting pest, when he gets the message.

_Performance review, my office, ten minutes._  
_-Director of Research and Development, Emmanuel Larsson_

"Oh god," Rich says, stomach flipping over sickly, and swallows hard. He reaches out with one hand to grab the side of the doorframe as everything seems to rock and spin around him. "Ahhh, oh wow, oh _fuck_."

"What the fuck, man, you just went Deluxe white," Miguel says, frowning at him. "I mean, you're always white, this is like _translucent_ —"

"Larsson," Rich says hoarsely, finally managing to dismiss the message on the third try. "Performance review."

"Oh, shit," Miguel says, straightening up, brown eyes going wide. "Uh, haha, shit! Man, I had no idea you were pretty enough for him!" It's supposed to be a joke, but right now it falls flat, and he grimaces, realizing it. "When? There time to transfer downstairs?"

That one's mostly a joke, but partly not, and Rich manages the barest edge of a stiff smile for the concern. "Ten minutes," he says through numb lips.

Miguel's eyes go completely round. " _Fuck!_ Man, he's not even giving you a chance—although—take the middle elevator, it's a little faster, if you run there you might make it! _Go!_ "

Rich goes, running full speed down the aisles between cubicles, heading out of the department. There's the chance that if he runs into Security or any executive types he'll get marked down for unprofessional demeanor, which he might still get hell for if it gets back to Larsson, but he'll _definitely_ catch hell if he's late.

He gets to the elevator in two minutes, and then there's the long climb up eighty fucking floors to the upper executive tiers. The elevator is fast and smooth, but another couple workers get on and off along the way, and each time the elevator slows to a halt Rich comes a little closer to jittering right out of his skin, straightening his clothes again and again as his nerves fray.

It hits the right floor and Rich is through the doors before they're even fully open, tearing down the hallways, startling execs who hopefully don't see him clearly enough at that speed to know who to complain about. He knows where Larsson's office is, but he doesn't dare spare the time to check the clock before he knocks. As bad as this could get, being late can only make it worse.

He's seen Larsson's office before, in the background of announcement videos and things, but he's never been inside before. The lights are turned down low, and Larsson has a fucking— _pool table_ in the corner and at _least_ three other pods off of the one Rich is in, just by the doors Rich can see.

Rich only spares a second for those things, though, because his eyes are fixed on the broad shape behind the desk.

"Close the door, Merrill," says Larsson.

"Yes sir," Rich says, dry-mouthed, and does. He steps forward uncertainly, straightening his spine, and has to resist the stupid urge to salute—he was in the Junior Cadets for _two fucking weeks_ when he was a kid, and yet every time he's in trouble with a superior he finds the totally inappropriate reflex to stand at attention surfacing.

His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in the back of his throat, blood rushing in his ears. He _isn't_ in trouble, or shouldn't be, as long as he's not late; he hasn't done anything wrong, nothing Larsson will have found out about, but it doesn't matter. It's Larsson. He's always angry, and Rich is breathing, so he's in trouble.

"I said _ten minutes,_ " Larsson says, and Rich's heart does something awful and twisting. "Not fifteen, not twenty— Do they not bother to teach you boys respect for a superior's time, anymore?"

Rich takes a hitching breath and forces out, "Sorry, sir," in a thin voice, knowing better than to protest, excuse, explain. Larsson would take any of that for argument, which he finds unacceptable, so it's a great way to get backhanded across the face or worse.

Rich is still out of breath and probably flushed from running, Larsson can't miss it even in the dim light, but that doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter if Rich was only a second late, a half-second. It's _Larsson_.

"I'll say you're _sorry_ ," Larsson sneers, and stands up, coming around the desk and giving Rich a brief once-over. "Well, before we start our review, then, a lesson on timeliness." He snaps his fingers, points down. "Shirt off. And on your knees, boy, I refuse to be loomed over in my own goddamn office."

The distant flicker of anger—at being snapped at, at the unfairness of this, at Rich's own helplessness—is drowned out by the wave of dread. Rich fumbles to get his shirt off with clumsy fingers, far too aware of Larsson's irate impatience, and finally drops to his knees, stomach gone cold and tight.

He's had brief run-ins with Larsson before, been slapped and pinched and pushed around and upbraided, but he's never been called to his office before. He's heard the stories about _performance reviews_ and hoped never to have personal experience with it. So much for that.

"Not going to pretend to be shocked?" Larsson says. Circles Rich slowly, looking him over, still smiling his ever-present, hard smile. "You know what you're in for, then, boy?"

Rich stares up at him. The question seems unfair, like cheating somehow. It takes him a frantic couple breaths to put any kind of answer together, because it has to be true without suggesting that, like, Larsson should maybe go harder because obviously Rich is ready for this, or something.

"Not… really, sir," he says. "Not, um, exactly."

Larsson makes a sneering little noise, and that's all the warning Rich gets before a foot shoves hard at the small of his back. "—Straighten your back, for god's sake. Wrists crossed behind you. You take up enough space, you might as well look presentable about it."

The anger comes back at that, stronger this time, and Rich clenches his jaw as he obeys. Wrists crossed behind him— _god_ Larsson better not tie him up or cuff him or something, Rich will flip out and break free and piss Larsson off for _real_.

"...And wipe that sullen look off your face," Larsson finishes, and—he's not even bothering to _hide_ it, how gleeful he is about Rich being pissed at him, how satisfied he is that he hit home with that one. _Fuck_. "You may be big, but if I get the slightest _inkling_ you're thinking of causing trouble, I have ways of keeping you under control you won't enjoy. Do you understand?"

Rich drops his head, equal parts furious and terrified. God. He can guess, but he doesn't want to think about it. "Yes sir," he says, low-voiced.

Larsson's hand lashes out, gets a handful of his hair and yanks his head up again, pulling his spine into a tight arch. "Speak up!"

Scalp stinging, nerves all on edge, Rich drags in a rasping breath and tries to wipe the helpless, frightened anger off his face. "Yes sir!" he repeats.

"Hm," says Larsson, and doesn't let go of his hair. The other hand reaches out—below Rich's line of sight, and when he tries to glance down, Larsson's grip on his hair just tightens, burning. Rich jerks, startled, as a pair of cruel fingers finds one of his nipples and gives it a tight, nasty pinch, rubs hard, twists back and forth. It's all he can do not to jerk back, try to twist away. He's not like Chuck, flinchy and sensitive and loud at the slightest touch, but that doesn't mean it doesn't _fucking hurt._ Larsson has to know it, too, because he sounds incredibly smug when he says "...Manners, _boy_."

Manners? How the _fuck_ is Rich _not_ being well-mannered?! He's not swearing or snarling or struggling, he's calling Larsson "sir" instead of "you sick asshole"—he's doing fine! He realizes there's an incredulous edge to the look he's giving the guy and hastily tries to force his face blank again.

"Yes sir," he says again, as emotionlessly as he can, and then twitches and has to stifle a hiss of pain as Larsson moves to the other nipple, messing with it the same way. _Fuck,_ that stings.

Larsson tugs and twists and teases for another minute or so, never letting go of Rich's hair, and then nods to himself, apparently satisfied, and reaches into his pocket instead. His eyes are fixed on Rich's face, hungry, and it doesn't take a genius to know that's not good news. Rich licks his lips and tries to keep breathing.

"These should help remind you to respond appropriately," says Larsson, and does something to the first nipple he was playing with, something that aches like _burning._ Rich couldn't keep from twitching and making a sharp, pained noise if it'd save his life. Larsson laughs and keeps a hold on him as the instinctive shudders and twitches die down, and then moves to the other side and does it again, a sharp bloom of tooth-grinding, inescapable pain. It starts to die away after a second or two—the first nipple is already at a dull, persistent throb, instead of the urgent burn of the other one—but it's still eye-wateringly bad. Rich's breath rasps in his throat and he has to blink to push back the tears of pain.

"What do you say?" Larsson says viciously. "When your superior takes the time to teach you a lesson?"

Oh fuck, oh fuck he _can't_ , Rich can't fucking—he _has to_ though. It's not like it means anything and it'll keep Larsson happy another minute. He forces the words out hoarsely, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "Thank you, sir."

His back has started to protest being held in such a tight curve, but wow, he barely notices the discomfort now next to his chest. Somehow spinning that as an upside doesn't seem to be working.

"Very good," says Larsson, and grabs one of his pecs, gives it a thorough, obscene grope, making Rich shudder. Larsson laughs again and finally— _finally_ lets go of Rich's hair so he can straighten up. "Look at them."

Rich has seen nipple clamps before, like, he's aware they exist, has maybe seen some improvised versions. He's pretty sure they're not meant to hurt this bad, though. These aren't improvised at all, they're little sterile-looking Deluxe-white things, with toothy grips and little weights hanging off them. As Rich stares down at them, Larsson lets go of his chest and brushes a fingertip very lightly back and forth past the tip of one deep-red nipple.

Rich makes a tight, hoarse noise. It doesn't hurt _much_ more, it just—points up the whole mess of dull, throbbing ache that's already there, and _god_ he doesn't like Larsson touching him. Is well aware he's shit out of luck on that front right now.

"I want to hear you tell me how it feels," Larsson says, and now that he's got both hands free he can just— _keep doing that,_ brushing fingertips back and forth on both of Rich's throbbing nipples, pulling jerks and hisses and little helpless spasms out of him. "And I expect you to be grateful for it, boy."

Rich has to squeeze his eyes closed to keep from giving Larsson a look of outraged bewilderment. How is he supposed to be convincingly _grateful_ for being semi-tortured like this? And really? _Really_ , Larsson wants _details_ , huh. _Fine_.

"It hurts, sir," Rich says tightly. "Like they're about to come off." Clenches his jaw, struggling with himself for a minute, and spits out, "Thank you sir."

He really wishes—it would be, just—the fucking _best,_ if he hadn't opened his eyes again, hadn't seen the way Larsson was watching him. The way he leaned in, the way he fucking—ran his tongue over his teeth, licked his lips, the awful curve of his smile.

"... _Very_ good," Larsson says, poisonously quiet, and reaches down, does something with the clamps. It burns fresh for a second as he jostles them, but when he pulls his hands away again they look...a little looser, they feel slightly less crushingly painful.

Rich swallows hard, shaken by the little surge of relief and helpless gratitude. He wasn't expecting anything like a reward, but he got one, and now there's a little part of him saying, _Just follow orders, be good and it'll be okay!_ He knows it's not true, can't be true, but that doesn't make it any easier to ignore.

"Can't have them _coming off,_ I have more plans for them," Larsson goes on, and Rich's stomach twists again in dread. Larsson turns his back, snaps his fingers expectantly and heads across the pod at a brisk pace, leaving Rich swaying numbly where he's kneeling.

Fuck. Is he supposed to follow? Probably, Larsson's always snapping his fingers at people.

Flushing hot and cold with awareness that if he guesses wrong either way he'll pay for it, Rich gets to his feet, keeping his hands behind his back, and trails after Larsson into the dark.

—

It feels like years, but it's probably an hour later at most when Rich limps out of the office at half a run, jaw aching, ass and thighs burning, scrubbing at his face and neck with slightly shaky hands. Larsson wasn't all that creative, in the end; there are worse things he could've done than fucking—jerk off on Rich's face like an asshole, as he was _so_ pleased to remind Rich the whole time.

It hurts to move fast, makes everything throb, especially the stupid— _toy_ , the leather straps digging into his hips and holding the damn thing inside him, but it hurts way less than what Larsson might do if he catches Rich hanging around. He can still feel the heavy hand on the back of his neck, nails digging in, hear Larsson's voice in the back of his head— _just wish I had time to see how you'd scream if I whipped your dick—_

Rich shudders all over and picks up the pace a little more, putting space between himself and the office as fast as he can. God. Sick _bastard._

It feels good to think it, feels good even though he hurts in way too many delicate places right now and he's still hot with humiliation and dismay. The anger is a solid burn in his chest, weightless and ferocious and _good,_ so much better than the ugly, shivering despair that almost broke him.

Because fuck that, he _made it._ Rich made it, he did it, he survived, he's gonna be okay. It's going to be hard not to just deck Larsson the next time Rich sees him, but that's fine, Rich prefers the anger to fear, the knowledge he'd be willing to fight if he had to is so much better than flinching and wanting to die when Larsson sneers at him.

Rich is focused on keeping his face blank, looking normal and professional as he makes his way past all the executive offices towards the nearest elevator. It's tricky when he's seething and exultant and sick all at the same time and everything aches. It's hard to walk normally when he's this hard and the stupid plug is still vibrating quiet and coaxing inside him, but it's important to look normal and not get stopped, he needs to get back down to his cube so he can get the damn toy out and maybe get off.

He's standing there waiting for the elevator to get there, when a voice behind him says, "...Well, never seen your face around these parts before, darlin'."

Rich has seen Director Carraway from a distance once or twice, but usually from across the R&D floor or stepping into an elevator or in the background of a broadcast. In person, Rich is frankly kind of startled to realize the mild-looking, kindly-smiling head of Human Resources is _taller_ than Rich is.

And, right now, his smile doesn't look quite as kind. Maybe it's because of what he just went through, putting all of Rich's senses on edge, but there's something about the way he's looking at Rich that makes his skin prickle.

The prickling only gets worse a second later when Carraway steps a little closer and says "...You look fit to fall over, sugar. You should head back to my pod, I got a few—"

"Oh, that's very kind, but I—really can't, sir," Rich cuts him off desperately, worn-out panic clawing at him. Then in sudden inspiration, "I'm afraid I'm feeling kind of sick. I just need to get back to my department, so I know where all the restrooms are."

The interested, hungry look behind Carraway's smile abruptly vanishes. "Oh, well, don't let me get in your way," he says, and presses a palm to the screen next to the elevator. It beeps, pops up a message that says _Executive Override Accepted_ , and the lights above the door start whipping through floor numbers at a noticeably higher speed. Carraway steps around Rich and heads for one of the hallway branches instead, with an airy wave over his shoulder. "...Feel better, sweetheart."

"For sure, _muffin_ ," Rich mutters under his breath, and steps into the elevator as the doors slides open with a cheerful _bing_. He hits the number for his department and the elevator starts the long descent.

Fuck, who would've imagined a director could actually be _helpful_ , especially one who looked distinctly the opposite a moment before. Maybe Rich needs to say he feels sick the next time someone's being creepy.

...Which will hopefully be never. God, he's tired.

He's almost the entire way down the tower, in the thankfully-deserted elevator, and he's already planning the fastest, least-travelled route to his cubicle and thinking about how he's going to get the stupid harness off, when the vibrator gives a sudden spike and starts pulsing hard, not _quite_ hard enough to hurt. Rich grunts, reaches out to catch himself on the wall as he sways, breathless and furious all over again. Everything Larsson already did wasn't enough, he has to keep messing with Rich as long as he can, of _course._ Fucking _asshole_.

The elevator hits his floor and Rich steps out, kind of limping but moving steadily forward, set doggedly on getting to his damn cube so he can… not sit down, fuck. Kneel up, lie on his face, bathe in nanocream, what the fuck ever—be _safe_ from dickhead execs.

He's halfway there when he runs into Ben just stepping out of someone else's cubicle. Rich tries to wipe the grim, tight-lipped _fuck this fuck everything_ look off his face and nod, stepping by, but Ben stares at him.

"...You look like hell," he says, without so much of a 'hello'. "What the fuck happened to you, kid?"

"Larsson," Rich snarls, giving up on looking normal. "Fucking _performance review_."

Ben's eyebrows rise, then drop sharply. "Fuck," he says, and gives Rich another look, expression darkening rapidly. "...You bleeding anywhere?"

God, _that's_ the fucking obvious next question, Larsson is such a bag of toxic waste. "No," Rich says, hissing out a breath, and then realizes he can't be sure, actually. "...I don't think so? Probably not. Everything fucking hurts and I can't sit down, but hey! I'm not in a fucking detention cell for decking a director and breaking his fucking _arms_ , so. I fucking _win_." He meets Ben's eyes and holds them, _dares_ him to say something snarky and dubious about that. Maybe Rich has a vibe strapped into him that's driving him slowly crazy, maybe he can barely walk, but he made it through that bullshit without coming apart at the seams.

Ben huffs, pushes a hand back through his hair. Shakes his head. "...Yeah," he says finally. "Fuck. Would've liked to see it if you _had_ decked him, though." He throws a dirty look up at the ceiling like he can see Larsson somewhere above him. Back down at Rich, grim. "Larsson's clean, at least. All of those nasty old fuckers, they'd never put up with a fucking— _dick-itch_. Consequences are for lesser humans, right."

Rich snorts agreement, but the vibe is seriously starting to be a problem, so he shifts his weight and nods in the direction of his cube. "I gotta, uh, got some details to take care of."

"Chuck just handed in his project summary for the quarter," says Ben, and gives Rich a sort of sharp pat on the arm. "If you need a hand."

"Oh," Rich says, blindsided, and blinks at him. "Right, uh, thanks." Rich's hard-on is pretty hard to miss, of course, and Ben _knows_ who hooks up with who, it's not like he gets left out of the loop somehow, whether or not any of it's relevant to him—it just feels weird sometimes to have him comment on any of it. Which he occasionally takes advantage of to bug Rich, of course, because Ben is a dick.

But not always. Nodding awkwardly at him, Rich hobbles onwards, no longer sure if he's heading for his own cubicle or one an aisle over. Hopefully he'll figure it out by the time he gets there.

Reality kicks in as Rich makes his way up Chuck's aisle. He's _gross_ right now, covered with sweat and lube and with Larsson's come in his hair, messed up and sore and furious—he can't ask Chuck for a hand with this mess, that's too much. He'll just go around to his own cubicle and take of everything there, and then get a fucking shower. When he glances in while hastily passing by, Chuck isn't even _in_ his cubicle, so there's that decision confirmed.

Then Rich reaches his own cubicle and—Nate is sitting at his desk, screens raised, scrolling through the code of Rich's latest project, like he said he'd do when he got a moment. Of _course_ that would be at the least convenient possible moment. That's just how Rich's life goes sometimes.

"Hey, dude," Nate says absently, and takes a moment to look up at him. Rich does an about-face, not ready to deal with explaining or excusing how he looks. "Gonna get a shower," he says over his shoulder, and heads determinedly away again. _God_ , the fucking plug just keeps going. If Rich comes in his pants before he gets somewhere private, he's not sure he can take it.

He manages to hold on, though. Everything hurts, and the constant sensation is starting to make him kind of numb, so he gets to the shower room fine. His knees are wobbly and he's leaking in his pants, but he's still walking, he's fine.

It's getting really late, now, heading toward midnight, and the shower lockers are completely deserted. The showers around curfew are a mess of techs shoving and making dirty jokes and laughing, but by now pretty much everybody has either gotten back to work or is stealing a few hours of sleep. Rich edges through the locker room, undresses as fast as he can, keys some clothes into the printer and looks to see if he can figure out how the harness comes off. The fastening is in the back, some kind of plate thing Rich can't figure out right away, can't see it well enough. He gives in to the edgy awareness that someone could walk in here and catch him off-guard and hurries through into the shower, hating the vibrator more with every step and wincing as the harness rubs against his raw ass and digs into his hips.

There's no shower running, which is why it's a shock to step into the room and see someone standing there, dripping wet with a screen up, typing furiously with his shower off. Rich's stomach clenches and he's about to turn and flee _again_ , swearing under his breath in dismay, except—it's Chuck. Who isn't apparently so distracted by whatever he's typing that he won't glance up to see who just walked in, which is just—great. _No_ one needs to see Rich like this, not Rich's friends, not anybody.

"Oh!" says Chuck, and kind of flinch-twists around like he always does when somebody shows up while he's naked, like he's trying to hide behind himself but also look totally casual about doing it. "Uh! Hey!" And then, of course, inevitably, his eyes dart down and catch on the belt digging into Rich's hip bones and the insides of his thighs, and how unrelentingly hard he still is, and the bright red blush that's still all the way from his head to his feet. Chuck falters a little, eyes widening through his wet hair, and then licks his lips and drops the screen.

"Uh," he says again, softer this time. "Dude, you—you okay?"

Rich's breath hisses out in frustration and fatigue. "Not fucking really," he sighs. He wants to get _clean_ already, but getting the harness wet probably isn't going to make it any easier to get off. He eyes Chuck, still reluctant to ask for anything to do with this, but… he's here, he's seen Rich already.

Rich limps over to him with a rueful shrug. "Can you see how to get this damn thing off?" he says, and turns his back, hoping his ass doesn't look as wrecked from Larsson's stupid paddle as it feels. He can't help but look back over his shoulder, just to have warning before Chuck touches or anything.

"Shit," Chuck says quietly, so...so much for not looking bad. He edges closer, shivering a little in the draft from the lockers. "Oh my god, dude, who—?" and then, softer and grimmer, "...was this James or something, pulling some kind of shady—no, fuck, nobody fucks James anymore, he's a creep. Dude, what happened?"

"Bigger creep," Rich says shortly. "Larsson. Fucking performance review, and I didn't kill him for some reason."

Chuck's never been any good at hiding his feelings; his eyes go round, his mouth drops open in a grimace of horror and worry. He gets it together a second later, managing to look resolute instead of awfully, helplessly distressed, and straightens his back. Geez, sometimes Rich forgets they're almost the same height, as small as Chuck stands most of the time.

"Let me take a look," Chuck says, and steps into his space, bends down a little with an apologetic wince up at Rich, poking at the whatever-it-is that's holding the thing together right above Rich's tailbone. Long, cool fingers nudge under the strap, tugging a little—metal rattles.

"...It's not a buckle, and there's no keyhole," Chuck reports after a second, preoccupied and audibly frowning. "I don't know how—"

There's a sharp little beep, and then the toy in Rich gives a fast string of nasty, prickling little jolts, snapping up the length of the thing like firecrackers and, by the feeling, managing to hit directly against his prostate on the last one.

Rich yelps, hips jerking, and claws pointlessly at the belt, tugging like that's going to do anything. " _Fuck!_ Ow, fuck, why is it—fucking _Larsson_ , what the fuck!" He gets it together a second later—if there's no obvious way to get the thing off it's probably bio-locked to Larsson or something, and cutting or ripping the belt off _is_ the only thing to do. Rich puts his full strength into the next tug… and whatever the belt is made of withstands it.

"Fuck!" he says, voice cracking, and tries again. What's he going to do, he can't deal with this, he needs it _off_ —

"Hold still," says Chuck.

"What?" says Rich, still breathing hard, kind of maybe panicking a little bit. "Hold—why?!"

"I'm doing a manual override," says Chuck, and when Rich twists again to stare back and down at him Chuck glances up to meet his stare, and his eyes are flaming and flickering bright blue. "So just— _hold still_."

Rich holds still, and Chuck takes a few deep breaths and then grunts with effort and then _snarls_ , a rising, vicious sound of exertion. The belt pulls tight enough to bruise on Rich's hips, and there's another urgent beep and the beginnings of another vicious chain of shocks—

And then a screech of tortured metal, and a high, sharp _ping_ as something ricochets away across the floor. The straps go slack, the shocks and vibrations cut off. Chuck huffs out a breath and kind of...falls backwards onto his butt on the floor behind Rich, breathing hard.

"Holy fuck," Rich says, breathing pretty hard himself as he turns to stare at Chuck. Rich's dick thinks that was just about the coolest thing ever, and Rich is not prepared to disagree.

The stupid plug is still in him, though. He fumbles for the dangling straps, looking back to try to sort out where best to hold, since they're attached to the damn thing, and carefully works it out of him. Tosses the whole contraption on the floor to recycle when he's fucking _clean_ , and looks back at Chuck just to make sure it all hasn't grossed him out or anything.

Chuck is pushing himself back to his feet when Rich looks at him—he comes up, sways a little, gets his feet under him and gives Rich a hopeful little half-smile, like he just handed in a project to somebody and he's anxiously waiting to hear he did good, instead of having just ripped a reinforced polymer harness in half with his bare hands.

They're pretty close now that he's standing up. Chuck's got a surprisingly small bubble of personal space, but considering the fact that his eyes are now kind of...slowly dropping from Rich's eyes to his lips, hell, maybe he's noticed too. And he's not stepping back.

"Manual override, huh?" Rich says, kind of hoarsely. "That's a pretty sweet trick. I keep forgetting you've got more horsepower than I do now. You don't show it off that much."

"Uh-huh," says Chuck, who sounds noticeably more breathless than he did a second ago. He's blushing, brighter and brighter the longer Rich looks at him, and his eyes dart from Rich's mouth to his eyes and then briefly down and then drag back up to his lips again. Rich can _see_ him shiver, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "So—uh. Yeah?"

Rich finds a slow grin pulling at his lips. Yeah, everything hurts, but nothing's making it worse anymore, he's hard and _really_ ready to get off by now, and not that Rich would admit it but Chuck is pretty much his favorite sex-friend. Liam's the only other person who rivals him, and he gets _cutting_ when he's pissed off. Chuck just growls and rants and is adorable. He's—Rich just _likes_ him, he's cool, end of story.

Rich reaches out, turns the shower on, sets it warm but not scorching, in deference to his battered—everything—and gives Chuck an inviting look. It's stupid to be uncertain, but something in the pit of his stomach is saying he shouldn't even touch Chuck now that Larsson's touched Rich, like his filth could rub off with skin contact. Rationally Rich is pretty sure you can't catch _being a sadistic bastard_ off someone, but his grin is still shaky at the edges when he tilts his head at the shower.

"You wanna...?"

Chuck hesitates about two more seconds and then makes a frankly adorable little moaning noise and steps up into Rich's space fast enough he almost collides with him, cups his cheek in one big, red-knuckled hand and kisses him deep and slow and thorough. He loves kissing, Rich should've been expecting that, but after the evening he's had it startles him, makes him moan and kiss back hard.

Chuck slides an arm cautiously around him, shivering a little again—geez his skin is cold, it's not exactly warm in here if you're not standing under the water and Chuck has no body fat to speak of, unlike Rich. There are goosebumps all over Chuck's chest where they're touching, so Rich puts his hands on Chuck's back to help, since he's always warm. When he pulls Chuck under the spray of hot water, Chuck makes a shuddery little pleased noise into the kiss and sort of wriggles happily, which just so happens to press him up against Rich in—a _lot_ of places, some really nice places.

And a couple of not-so-nice ones. Fucking _hell,_ Rich's nipples still feel approximately like somebody lit them on fire. Rich hisses and winces back a little, shoulders rounding over protectively, and grimaces. Can't think of anything to say and shrugs uncomfortably, since Chuck already knows the explanation, after all.

Chuck didn't seem to have really noticed the sore redness of Rich's nipples, maybe because of the blush that's turning Rich's entire chest red—he looks closer at that flinch, and grimaces in sympathy. "...Sensitive?" he says, a little awkwardly, and jerks his head down at them. "Or just, just sore?" Unspoken, _play with them gently, or not at all?_

"Ngh," Rich says, and tips his head back under the water to get his hair wet, and also so he doesn't have to meet Chuck's eyes. "Not… they're not great. The, uh, the clamps were the first thing to go on."

"Fuck, dude," Chuck says, quiet and sighing, and leans back in again, curving his back a little to keep their chests apart, kissing his way along Rich's jaw instead. Down the tendons of his neck, scraping his teeth just a little, testing.

Rich catches his breath and groans quietly, shivers. Warm water and gentle lips and teasing teeth where they won't hurt, and Chuck's concern and care like warm arms around him.

"Fuck," Rich sighs, and lets his hips rock forward against Chuck, his aching dick rub up against Chuck's belly. "Can, uh, I could use a hand, maybe."

" _Mm,_ " says Chuck, preoccupied and soft, and nips and nibbles at the side of his neck, apparently more focused on leaving a hickey than on anything Rich is saying. "Hm?"

Rich sighs. "You're being attacked by an Ultra-Golem," he points out, rocking into Chuck again.

"Oh, uh…" Chuck breaks away, jerks back in to kiss the spot he was working on, wipes at it with a thumb under the warm water and makes a pleased noise in his chest. "Oh! Haha—yeah. I, yeah, totally, here."

He's still a goddamn tease, even if it's just in the little things—not simply reaching down to get a hold of Rich's dick, but sliding a hand down his side, stroking a knuckle past his hip bone, bracing his lower back for a second. Trailing a fingertip feather-light up Rich's dick before he finally grabs some soap for slick, wraps a hand around and starts stroking, light and smooth, grip gentle and loose like he's afraid Rich's dick is as sore as his nipples are. Rich flashes briefly on how that would feel if Larsson had made good on his threat, if he actually _whipped—_ He cuts himself off on the thought, shuddering, and leans into the touch instead.

"Mm?" says Chuck again, and loosens his grip even more, tilting his head to get an eye on Rich's face. "...'S okay, right?"

"Not, nnh, so soft," Rich says, hips twitching in frustration. "He didn't—hhh—actually do anything to that except—fucking—edging bullshit, wouldn't let me— It doesn't hurt."

"Yeah?" Chuck bites his lip a little, like he's trying and failing to hide the tiny flash of guilty interest in his eyes. Firms his grip and strokes faster and firmer, more like the normal pace he knows Rich likes, and Rich groans, sagging in relief. "I thought you, uh. You seemed like. You really need it, huh."  
From anybody else it would seem like a cruel, teasing kind of question—but Rich knows Chuck, knows what he likes and can hear the thread of something like breathless affection in his voice. Chuck loves this, loves knowing people desperately need him to touch them, and even if it's because of Larsson, it's a lot more bearable when it's Chuck enjoying it.

"Yeah, baby boy," Rich pants, bucking into his hand, "I really, really need it, _god_." He runs a hand through his wet hair, arching his back a little, and puts his other hand on Chuck's shoulder, holding on, keeping him close. "Seriously that was so fucking hot," he finds himself saying. "Your eyes fucking _lit up_ , and then you just—you know what my physical performance rating is, right? You've gotta be at least two points higher than me, that's _crazy_."

Chuck ducks his head, flushing to his ears, and gives a twisting little polish at the tip of Rich's dick that just about makes his fucking knees buckle. "Shut up, dude," Chuck mumbles, shy and pleased, and glances up. Flashes his eyes again, flickering them blue, and presses forward a little bit more, pressing Rich up against the wall with the rangy length of his body, Rich canting his hips out so his ass won't touch the cold tiles. Chuck kisses him again, nips his lower lip and then gives him a flash of a startlingly wicked grin before ducking forward and sucking gently on one of his earlobes, making him moan loud and shivery, stroking him fast and steady and just— _fucking good_ , god, Rich needed this so bad.

His knees are shaking, Chuck's mouth on his ear and his hand on Rich's dick, his body against Rich's, the pleasure mounting higher and higher until it crests and breaks over him, shakes him, leaving him heaving for breath and wiped out. Mind beautifully blank, he presses his shoulder blades into the wall and shudders through the aftershocks, gasping and moaning softly.

"Fuck," he mumbles eventually, starting the long drift down through the afterglow, "you're so fucking good, baby boy. Gorgeous mouth, good with your hands, crazy fucking cute—goddamn." It occurs to him in a hazy kind of way that he probably normally wouldn't say some of that, but who the fuck cares, it's been a really weird night.

"I, oh," says Chuck, squeaky, and sort of...pets Rich's hair, drags his fingers gently over it, so soft it barely even stings the places Larsson pulled. Wets it back from his forehead. Kisses him again, kind of desperately, making wonderful little noises under his breath as his body slides up against Rich's, long limbs and wet skin, hair sticking to his cheeks and lips all flushed and eyes pretty much black. His dick is hard and slick against Rich's hip, and when he wiggles his hips a little and rubs up against Rich he makes the fucking _cutest_ little moaning whine.

"Yeah, well, you're," he gasps, and giggles breathlessly, nuzzling at Rich's ear again, making him gasp and shiver. "You're, you, ha, _nnh_ , you're so...your dick, and, your face, 's good, you're so good, you're so, I wanna just, just, all over you, _fuck_."

It's not very coherent, but Rich gets the idea, pleased even as he snickers at Chuck. "Yeah?" he says, running a hand down Chuck's chest, thumbing at one nipple, skin catching on wet skin. "Hey." He grabs Chuck by the shoulders, stepping out from between him and the wall, and turns Chuck to push him back against the slick tiles. Grabs a handful of soap from the dispenser and steps in close to slather it across Chuck's chest, grinning at him.

"You wanna have some fun, babe?"

"I, hnh _hhahaha,_ " Chuck gets out, voice breaking into another one of those uneven little giggles as Rich's fingers catch on his nipples, slick now, toying and tweaking idly. "I, _nnh_ , I, oh, fuck _hnh_. _Fuck._ "

"Guess I'll take that for a yes," Rich murmurs, and leans in for a long kiss while his thumbs circle on Chuck's chest, nudging and barely grazing and then stroking over, teasing and then firm. He tilts his hips into Chuck, gives him something to rub up against even if there's too much friction for it to be great—it's Chuck, slow and teasing is how he likes it. Rich will get to his dick eventually. Rich keeps up just kissing, just touching, and Chuck does his usual response of increasingly incoherent noises, flailing his hands like he wants to want to push Rich away from his nipples but can't bring himself to, shuddering under him and catching his mouth for brief, filthy kisses, whimpering against Rich's lips.

Fuckin' A, the scrawny little nerd Rich grew up working next to grew up so _fucking pretty._ He would've said a few minutes ago that his dick was pretty resoundingly done for the evening, but watching Chuck squirm against the shower wall, eyes almost shut and lips open on a soft, constant stream of cries and moans, it's enough to coax a faint, overwrought twitch and a throb of shivery pleasure. Rich huffs softly and decides he'll think about it if it gets that far.

He waits until Chuck's hips are twitching and rocking against him in frustration before finally grabbing some more soap and teasing a slick thumb down Chuck's dick. "What do you think, baby boy, should I get you close and stop a couple times? I know that gets you hot."

Chuck makes a shivery, wanting noise in the back of his throat, and then...falters. Blinks his eyes open, squinting against the trickle of water down his face.

"You need," he says, and gets one hand up, touches Rich's chest, fingers skirting carefully around one swollen nipple. "Fixed—nanocream, or, or something, I'm not gonna _ah,_ ah, not gonna make you wait for, for, just because of me, you need…"

Rich lets out a rough breath. Shit, he _does_ need some nanocream ASAP, he's been trying not to think about how much he hurts, but now that Chuck brings it up it's hard to ignore. Goddamn Larsson, ruining fucking everything…

Rich stops, thinks about it. "How bout this. We're gonna get clean, and we're gonna go back to my cube so I can get fixed up, and then you're gonna distract me for a while," Rich leans in to mouth at Chuck's neck under his ear, "by letting me wreck you. If you're cool with that," he adds, and grins at Chuck's eager, hiccupy little whimper. "Only question is, do you wanna get off first and wait later, or start waiting now?"

"I…" Chuck fidgets, licks his lips. "I, don't… You can, uh, it's cool, y-you can _nnh_ , it's, fine." He twitches his hips up into Rich's hand with a cut-off gasp, then subsides, flushing. "I can wait," he finishes, in an embarrassed mumble.

He's so fucking cute. It's so great to have him here, careful and sweet, squirming and responsive under Rich's hands, giving him something good to focus on so he doesn't have to think about anything else. Rich kisses him thoroughly, giving his dick a few firm strokes before pulling his hand away. "Guess we better get clean, then!" he says brightly, and starts washing his hair.

Chuck leans against the wall for a second, catching his breath, and then gets himself upright and starts dutifully washing up.

Rich loses track of him for a minute, letting himself settle into the familiar routine of showering—which is why he startles when a soapy cloth touches his back, running gently over the back of his neck and down his spine. Back up to wipe down the bruised, tingly sides of his neck. Chuck's other hand settles lightly on his shoulder, guiding but not grabbing, keeping his back turned as Chuck carefully wipes it down for him.

Rich sighs, most of the tension ebbing out of him. "Thanks, man," he murmurs. It feels good to have someone helping, a friendly touch Rich can trust to be careful on his battered skin.

He takes care of his front, washes his face, rinses his hair out, washing Larsson off his skin and away from everywhere he touched. Rich presses his fingers gently through his hair into the sore spots on his scalp, trying to soothe them. The soap stings his nipples a little and he washes them off hastily. They're bruised and sore as hell, enough he's not gonna be wearing shirts as long as he can get away with it.

Chuck has finished rinsing down the rest of him, so Rich turns his back to the wall and takes care of washing off the dried, tacky lube between his cheeks, setting his jaw to keep from hissing. Bruised and swollen and aching— _fuck_ Larsson. His hand hitches as he's caught for a second on the memory of the pool table felt under his dragging fingernails, the painful drag of the cue in him as Larsson sneered behind him— He shakes the memory off, trying to keep his breathing steady. Larsson wasn't exactly gentle, if there are any scrapes in there he—god, he might have to go to Medical and figure out a way to get a shot of actual nanos. Only if he has to, though, fuck. If a stranger tries to touch his skin in the next week or so Rich will probably just deck them on instinct.

...God, it's a relief to be clean. Chuck is rinsing his own hair, so Rich leaves the shower on and goes out to dry off and get dressed in his fresh, clean clothes. Which is—not great, as expected. The shirt is bad enough, but the briefs are worse, cloth pressing against the raw skin of his ass and making walking a serious trial.

The shower turns off and Chuck comes out carrying the broken harness and plug and feeds it to the recycler without looking at Rich, for which Rich is grateful. He stands in the doorway keeping idle watch for anyone else coming in while Chuck gets dressed, and they leave together.

Fortunately Rich remembers about Nate before they actually get to Rich's cubicle, and just pulls Chuck past that aisle and down to Chuck's cube instead. "Nate's commenting my code, I forgot," Rich sighs as they step in. "Hope you've got nanocream."

"I'm friends with Liam," Chuck points out, "if I didn't have nanocream, I do now." He heads over to his desk and starts digging; pulls out a tube with a piece of paper taped to it and grins at it before showing Rich. Liam has signed it in fancy, curly letters surrounded by little hearts.

"Such a dumbass," Chuck mutters, and gives Rich a quick glance up and down, thoughtful. "Uh… If you wanna do this by yourself, I mean, I can...go…"

Rich snorts and shrugs uncomfortably, already opening his shirt. "'S fine, if you can just, get the privacy screen…" He kind of _would_ rather do this alone, but Chuck has a better angle to do Rich's ass and is probably better at a delicate touch anyway. Chuck nods hastily, hurries over, pulls up the hologram over the door of his cubicle and then edges back a little awkwardly. Settles down sitting on the edge of his cot, unscrewing the top on the tube of nanocream.

"What, uh," Chuck falters, cheeks pink, and then shakes himself a little and straightens his back, jaw jutting resolutely. "Where do you want to start?"

Rich shrugs again, dropping his shirt on Chuck's desk chair, and steps over, getting his pants open. "Not like there's that much to do." He shoves pants and briefs down his thighs with a soft hiss, reaches down to get a couple daubs of nanocream from the tube and turns his back to Chuck, putting his ass practically in the guy's face, not quite what he intended but oh well. Rich dabs cream carefully on his nipples and hisses again at the coolness on battered skin.

"If you can just—" he twitches a shoulder, "take care of that, that'd be great."

"Yeah," says Chuck, and puts a hand on his hip, carefully avoiding the places that burn. "Okay, yeah—fuck, dude. Larsson's such a—fuck. Geez."

"Larsson is absolutely a fuck," Rich agrees. "A sick, twisted one."

The hand on Rich's hip squeezes a little before a cool, slick palm settles very, very lightly on Rich's sore skin. Chuck's other hand twitches and winces every time Rich does, but the hand with the nanocream on it is steady and slow, spreading cream very gently over what has to be viciously red, bruised skin.

Rich relaxes bit by bit as it doesn't hurt more, no fingernail grazes or too-rough touches. The cream feels uncomfortably cool again, but it warms fast enough, and his nipples already are throbbing a little less, so his ass will feel better in a minute.

He waits until Chuck's finished both cheeks, covered everything as far as Rich can tell, and then turns and holds out a hand for the tube. "Thanks. I'll do the last bit," he mutters, not quite meeting Chuck's eyes.

"Sure," says Chuck, and pushes himself up onto his feet again—staggers a little, grabs Rich's arm and then, apparently noticing the proximity that puts them in, blushes again and jerks his hand away. Fidgets. Wipes his hands on his pants. Hurries over towards his desk and starts clattering around in there, pointedly giving Rich privacy, the back of his neck going red.

Goddammit, he's such a cute little fucker. His self-consciousness helps, somehow, makes it easier to relax, and Rich shoots a soft, crooked smile at Chuck's back before he can help himself. Gets some more cream on his fingers and...takes care of it, the last piece of Larsson's abuse, wiping the guy's touch off his body. Larsson seemed pretty sure that lotion he put on after the...paddling...thing...would make some pretty nasty bruises set in, but Liam gets a hold of the good shit, high-grade topical nanos, and now that it's on, it's—Rich is— He's on the mend. He'll be fine, he's done, he's good.

Sighing in relief, he drops the tube on the bed, goes to pull his pants back up and pauses. Why bother when it's gonna be uncomfortable? It's not like Chuck will mind.

He strips the rest of the way instead and steps over to the desk where Chuck's still busily ignoring the other half of his cube. Rich taps his shoulder with the open tube of nanocream.

"Hope you didn't lose the cap."

To Chuck's credit, when he turns around, his eyes only _very_ briefly dart down to Rich's dick. "Yeah," he says, a second late and a little strangled, and reaches up to brush his damp bangs back, one wide eye briefly visible before his hair falls back into his face. "Here, I got it. You good?"

"Yeah," Rich says with a firm nod that's only, like, 60% a lie. He's tired and helplessly angry and sick and kind of terrified about the future, but—he's safe for now, and if he can't sit down tomorrow he'll probably be able to the next day, and right now, Chuck is offering him a really nice distraction.

"So," he says when Chuck's set the nanocream aside, and puts a hand on the desk on either side of Chuck, smirking at close range. "You ready to get wrecked, baby boy?"

Chuck makes a squeaky, breathless noise, eyes going very wide. The faint pink blush that was lingering on his face deepens sharply, drowning out his freckles. "Uh...ha," he says. "Hey! Wow, haha. Are...if, uh, if, that'll...if that's...good? For you?"

"Obviously," Rich says, rolling his eyes, and kisses Chuck, one hand sliding over the strained front of his pants to rub there. Chuck gives a tight little shudder, hands sliding up Rich's sides, finding his biceps, clinging on tight, pressing himself up closer.

"Yeah," Rich says, huskier, and pulls him back over to his cot. "Get naked unless you wanna have to get new clothes," he says, lifting wicked eyebrows. Chuck moans "Oh _fuck_ " under his breath and makes absolutely no attempt to get his shirt off, leaning in to nip at Rich's neck and going for his ears.

Rich makes a shivery huffing noise and twitches his head away from Chuck's mouth. "You little dick," he snickers, and grabs the neck of Chuck's shirt, snaps the hem, and rips the shirt down the front like a tissue. Then for fun he tears it down the back too and tugs, leaving one half hanging from each of Chuck's arms. Letting Chuck pull those off as he likes, Rich leans down to get his mouth on a nipple, hand teasing between Chuck's legs again.

"Fucking— _god,_ " Chuck whimpers, and buries his face in Rich's hair, muffling a shaky noise against his skin. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, _oh._ "

"Yeah?" Rich says, lips moving against wet skin, and flicks his tongue out. "You want your pants shredded too?"

Chuck rubs his cheek against Rich's temple for a second, moaning softly and grinding against the hand between his legs, and then twitches as Rich slides his other hand down, reaching for the waist of Chuck's pants. "Okay, okay okay, I'll, fuck, dude! God. Okay, I'll get them, I got it— _hnh!_ "

"Well, okay, then," Rich says, straightening up with one last graze of his teeth, and grins, crossing his arms. "You get five seconds."

Chuck scrambles out of his pants, staggers a little, catches his foot on the waistband and almost falls over. Rich catches him by an elbow, steadies him, and kicks the pants a safe distance away.

"Nice," he says, pushes Chuck down on the cot on his back and goes back to the desk to see if the lube is where he remembers, which it is—just kind of shoved behind a cup of pens like nobody will notice it there. Rich snorts, snatches it up and comes back over to flop down on top of Chuck to nibble on his lower lip. Chuck arches up against his weight, squirming under him, letting out more of those hitching little giggling noises he makes when he's enjoying himself and too overwhelmed to express it.

"God," Rich mumbles, nuzzling into his neck to leave some strategic hickies, "stop being so fucking cute." A careless shift of weight reminds Rich that his own nipples aren't actually up to be pressed against anything right now, so he moves half off of Chuck and leans up on an elbow to tweak and thumb at Chuck's nipples instead. "Getting to dangerously high levels here, you're gonna infect me and then I won't be able to intimidate Elites anymore, and then where will we all be? They'll just want to pat my head and coo, it's gonna be weird for everyone."

"Well for, for one _nh_ , thing, _fuck you_ ," Chuck pants, and arches up again, like he's relishing the way Rich's weight presses down on him. "I'm not, hh, cute, I'm fucking _not,_ okay." He tries to grab at Rich, but with his arms pinned the most he can manage is some uncoordinated scrabbling at Rich's arms. He struggles for another second, then just flops back onto the bed, panting, twitching as Rich keeps on plucking at the nipple he's playing with. "Stop talking about Security, you're gonna... _mmh_ , fuck. Kill my boner."

A sharp comment, a whole fucking tangle of them, jams up behind Rich's teeth in a flare of sudden anger. He wants to snarl at Chuck, _you think Security is bad, try having a fucking director threaten to whip your dick raw. Kill your boner? You're fucking lucky to have a_ choice _about it when I had one the whole time he was fucking me with a pool cue—_

He bites it all back, closing his eyes for a second. It's not the kid's fault, it's unfair to throw it at him when he's tried so hard to help, _has_ helped, is still helping.

"Sorry, kiddo," he says instead, as lightly as he can, watching his hand on Chuck's chest, "you're definitely cute, we took a vote on it while you were sleeping and got unanimous agreement, so it's official now." He raises his eyes to Chuck's face, smirking, and stops. Chuck is very still underneath him, not breathing, eyes flickering across Rich's face. He looks...blank, mostly, but in a frozen, wide-eyed way. Like he looks when somebody from executive yells at him, or Security has him backed up into a corner.

"Sorry," Chuck says, really small. "I didn't mean—to— Sorry."

That's—Rich can't deal with that look aimed at him, Chuck hasn't looked at him like that since he was a pissy seventeen-year-old and looming to purposefully scare the kid. He shoves up to move off of Chuck, giving him some space, tries to sit back and hisses at the ache on raw skin, settles with his calves crossed uncomfortably under his thighs so his ass isn't touching anything.

"What are you even sorry for," he says tiredly, shoving a hand through the mess of his damp hair. "You didn't do anything."

Chuck breathes out slowly, breathes in again, pushes himself up after Rich, some of the color returning to his face. "...Definitely looks like I did," he says, and reaches out carefully, touches Rich's knee, patting awkwardly. "I didn't mean to...whatever I did. Do you wanna stop?"

" _No_ ," Rich says in annoyance, glaring, and then rubs his hands over his face, just—trying to rein it back, be chill. "No, not unless you do," he says more calmly. "I get it if—I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just fucking- _-pissed_ right now, but I'm not mad at _you_ , okay?!" Fuck, his voice keeps rising. He digs both hands into his hair and focuses on breathing, trying to stuff the anger into a little box and focus on sexy stuff again.

Chuck licks his lips a little nervously, but at least he doesn't look scared anymore. "I don't...want to stop," he says, and edges a little closer, leans in and kisses Rich's frown, rests a hand very gently on one of his hips. "I know you're not gonna...hurt me, or anything."

"Of fucking _course_ I'm not gonna hurt you, fuck!" Rich snaps, and groans in disgust at himself. "Goddammit—fuck this," he says, and kisses Chuck, kind of frantic to shut himself up, stop his stupid fucking mouth from spilling out vitriol he doesn't mean, that Chuck doesn't need to deal with.

Chuck tries to get out more uncertain fragments of reassurance for a minute or two, but Rich kisses him over and over again until Chuck stops worrying and starts kissing him back, moving against him again. He's still worried, Rich can feel it in the way Chuck's hand strokes the back of his neck, down his side, but he also arches his hips up and rubs his dick against Rich's thigh, hitching out little gasps, pressing the back of his wrist against his mouth to muffle himself.

The anger slowly sinks back away as Rich gets distracted by those sweet noises, the way Chuck uses his tongue, _god_ he kisses nice. He's so hot all flushed and twitchy and turned on, and Rich loves getting him that way, loves the way his lanky body moves, his clever mouth and hands—

Gasping, Rich pulls away, tries to remember what he was just thinking. "You okay like that, with me on top, or you wanna do something else?"

Chuck smiles at him, breathless, licks his lips and drops back on his elbows to wrap his legs around Rich's hips and grind on him, lift himself right off the bed to arch up against him.

"How about...figure it out?" he suggests.

Rich snorts, grinning back. "Uh- _huh_ ," he says, picks Chuck's upper half up and shifts him over a little, then flops down over him again. "You need something, baby boy?" he says innocently, getting a hand down to toy with Chuck's dick, fingertips spreading precome over the head as they slide back and forth.

"Hh _nnh_ ," says Chuck, and tilts his head back, eyes fluttering almost shut. "You had some. Good ideas in the, in the shower, I think you can _ah!_ Figure, _oh, fuck,_ yeah, that's, good, fuck."

"Oh, huh," Rich says, with a mock-frown, reaching for the lube. "You know, I just have so many good ideas all the time, I'm not sure which ones you're talking about." He slicks his hand, grabs Chuck's dick again, strokes, grins at the way Chuck pushes up into the touch. "Maybe you should remind me which ones those were. Tell me _exactly_ what you want me to do to you."

" _Dick,_ " says Chuck, breathlessly offended—or breathlessly turned on, or possibly both. "Oh my god. You're such a—oh my _god._ " He huffs, drops his head back on the pillow and then gets out, "...Make me— _fuck_. Make me—hold me down and don't...let me…" he sputters off, scarlet in the face.

"Nice," Rich breathes, and starts to stroke him quick and steady and light, leaning down to kiss him. "Dunno why you keep saying you're not cute," Rich says when he pulls back again. "You're fuckin' adorable, all hot and loud and responsive as fuck…"

Chuck groans at him, makes a catty little noise but doesn't argue about it this time. Winds a hand down, going for Rich's dick.

Rich considers letting him get away with it, but that's not how the game goes. "You think so, huh?" he says, and grabs Chuck's wrist, pins it to Rich's palm with a couple fingers and snags the other wrist with the same hand, then pins them together above Chuck's head. Rich is secretly pleased that his other hand's rhythm hitched but didn't stop. " _I_ think you're gonna lie right where I put you and—" he was going to say 'take it', but can't suddenly, even in jest, can't pretend he's forcing Chuck into that. "—Enjoy what I give you," he finishes, and bends down to suck a mark into Chuck's collarbone.

" _Fuck,_ dude," Chuck breathes, hands working, and goes limp under him, shivering. Squirms a little. "You're, that, _hha,_ yes, okay, yes, fuck, please."

Rich hisses out a breath as his dick firmly asserts its renewed interest in the goings-on. Shit, Chuck sounds so nice like this. "Good," Rich says roughly, and noses Chuck's chin up to go after his neck again. For a while there's just panting breaths and Chuck's noises, and then Rich straightens from the string of marks he's leaving down that pale throat to say, "You better tell me when you get close, otherwise… I'm not gonna be pleased." Empty threat, especially since right now Rich can't stomach pretending he'd spank the kid, whether or not Chuck is usually okay with that. Still, it's important that Rich _make_ the threat, hold up his end of the game.

This time, at least, Chuck doesn't seem to notice the hesitation—just nods, fast and jerky, and gasps out some combination of _yes, I'll be, yes, I'll be—_ good, _come on dude I'll be good…_ that fills Rich's chest with something hot and sweet and aching.

"Course you will," he mumbles against Chuck's skin, kisses and nips and then kisses again. He stops stroking Chuck's dick for a minute to just rub a thumb under the head, back and forth, teasing the sensitive nerves there, and nips Chuck's lip when he arches and whimpers.

"You're so good, babe, I know it," Rich murmurs, nuzzling Chuck's ear, and rambles on, starting to stroke again, barely listening to himself as he drinks in the noises Chuck makes, the way his body jerks and trembles. "Such a fuckin' catch, someday some pretty girl's gonna notice and we'll all be hella sorry. Look at you, fuck, such a sweetheart…"

"Wait, wait wait _wait!_ " Chuck moans, half-sobs, eyes round and chest heaving. "Stop for, _wait,_ I'm gonna, nnnh…! Fuck—"

Somewhat startled, Rich pulls his hand away, watches Chuck's face as he gasps and shudders. "Shit, you all right?"

"Yeah," Chuck gasps, and falls back, some of the tension fading out of his body. "That was, you just…" he turns his face like he's trying to hide it in his elbow, and for a second his eyes look a little too bright, pupils crowding out the faint blue flicker of his irises. "You said, I had to tell, had to tell you, it was just...a fucking _lot,_ okay? You're, a lot—"

"Hey, shh," Rich says, rubbing his cheek against Chuck's. _You're a lot?_ He didn't do that much, though—he pushes the flicker of bafflement away, focuses on soothing Chuck down again.

"Chill, you did good, you're _fine_ , man." He kisses Chuck slow and relaxed, pulls back, rests the side of his head against Chuck's and runs the knuckles of his free hand up and down Chuck's side, waiting for his breathing to settle.

"...Sorry," Chuck mumbles, and shudders. "...Too fast, that was, I was— Sorry."

Rich snorts at him. "Stop fucking apologizing because I'm too good at sex, for fucks sake, man."

Chuck laughs, unsteady and maybe a little choked. "Sorry," he says again, and closes his mouth, like he's swallowing an apology for the apology. Hitches his hips up a little, cracking one eye open to glance up at Rich's face before going back to hiding in his own arm.

"Hmm," Rich says, and draws a slick fingertip up the length of Chuck's dick, drawing little circles on the head. "You know, you're so good at tying yourself in knots, I'm not sure I need to be holding you down. You're like, self-binding. Very convenient."

He loosens his grip a little, just as illustration to his point, and Chuck makes a complaining little noise and jerks up after his hands. "Come on, dude," he says, and grabs at Rich's wrists half-heartedly, pushing at him until Rich grabs him and pins him back down again, laughing. "Come on, _Rich,_ please, dude—!" He twitches his hips up again, following the teasing little touch on his dick, searching after it, lip pinned in his teeth. " _Nnh_ , please, that feels so fucking _good_."

Rich huffs quietly and presses his recovered dick against Chuck's hip, grabs Chuck and strokes firm and quick again, watching his face. "That's right, baby boy," Rich says, voice a little hoarse, "tell me how it feels, tell me how much you like it."

Chuck follows orders, squeezes his eyes shut and spills out a gorgeous stream of _please I want it so bad please feels so good, please Rich I_ need it, _please—_ goes from shivering and panting to writhing under Rich and bucking against him. Moans something about _god you're so fucking strong holy shit, fuck…_ and bites his lip hard and red and soft in between Rich's kisses.

Rich's own hips rock against him, jerking a little at every plea. Rich wants to keep kissing him, wants him to keep talking, can't have both at once.

" _You're_ so strong," he murmurs as Chuck's babble trails into moaning. "Fucking hell, babe, sexy as fuck. Go around fooling everybody with the cute squeaks and the big blue eyes and then you just tear shit apart barehanded. Bet that'd get anyone hot, god."

Chuck makes a weak little noise that might have been intended as denial, but he's panting hard enough it doesn't sound like much at all. Rich snorts and pins him a little harder, lowers his voice to a baritone hum against Chuck's ear as he strokes steadily. "Not up for debate, kiddo. You're so hot, fuck, just wanna keep you on the edge until all you can think about 's how good it feels, just play with you until you're moaning so loud you can't hear yourself think and it feels like you can't take it anymore—see if I can get you to scream when you come, bet you'd love that, huh?"

Chuck's voice breaks into a sharp, bright little whimper, almost startled, and this time Rich catches the almost agonized twist of his expression and the way his whole body goes tense. He's already pulling his hand away when Chuck gasps out "Please 'm almost, wait, _wait_!"

"'S okay, man, I gotcha," Rich says, and even holds his own hips still while he waits. Chuck gasps and pants and slowly comes down, and this time when he starts to slow down his breathing he's blinking too fast, and there are tears tracking down his sweaty face, across his temples into his hair. Rich's heart turns over, hot and tender in his chest. Chuck looks happy, just...dazed, and helpless and ecstatic and lost.

"...Some—" he starts, and cuts himself off, takes a shuddering breath. Tries again, breathy and hoarse and small, like he's asking for some enormous favor. "...Something—else? For, for a while—?"

"Sure, babe," Rich says softly, and kisses his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw, feeling too much and lacking words for any of it even if he planned to say anything.

Straightening, he brings his hand up to nudge Chuck's nipple while he frowns to himself. Way too many options for _something else_ , and no way to be sure if Chuck is thinking about one of his toys or what.

"You have something in particular in mind?" he says, ducking to kiss along Chuck's collarbone so the guy doesn't have to say it with Rich watching him. Chuck moans and curls around him, nuzzles into Rich's hair, tries to nip at one of his ears but misses by a mile.

"Put, um," Chuck says, and laughs again, nervous and small. "Try— _hha._ Can you—mm, fuck." And then just as Rich is about to laugh and maybe tease him a little for not being able to get the words out, Chuck drops his voice and leans in close, gasping against his ear. Gets out the words all in one long rush, _"Need something in—_ need, your fingers, your dick, I don't care, fuck, _please._ "

Rich loses his breath, snickers a little in shock. "Shit yeah," he says, hips jerking against Chuck. "I can _definitely_ help you out with that. Goddamn, man." He considers his current position. "Not gonna work like this, though." He kisses Chuck again. "I can put you on your knees, hold your wrists behind your back while I get my fingers in you. That sound good?"

Chuck nods again, and this time when he ducks down he does manage to get his mouth on Rich's ear, runs the tip of his tongue along the shell of it and nips at it, making Rich gasp and shiver. Chuck sighs happily against his temple, and Rich gives a vengeful little growl and nips his jaw.

Then he lets go of Chuck's wrists, rolls him over, pulls his ass up with his knees under him, and grabs his wrists again to pin them in the small of his back. Of course the issue with this position is that Rich can't watch Chuck's face, has to try to judge how he's doing from general body language. He'll have to trust Chuck to say something if it goes wrong.

"Okay?" Rich asks, one eye on Chuck's back while trying to pop the lid on the lube with a slippery thumb.

" _Mmhm_ ," Chuck mumbles against the sheets, and hitches his knees up a little, arching his back. Makes a few happy little noises and stretches, groaning, cracking something in his back. Says something small and bleary, and he's muffled by the blankets his face is buried in, but Rich can hear the word _please_ in there.

"Yeah, I gotcha," Rich says fondly, and considers the open lube bottle, held in the same hand he needs to slick up. Then he shrugs and squeezes lube directly onto the actual goal, all pink and innocent and unsuspecting.

He's lucky that he's close enough Chuck can't actually kick him, because Chuck goes from soft, hopeful moaning to a squeaky, piercing shriek and thrashes over onto his side, jerking hard enough to knee Rich in the chest.

"You _dick!_ " he squeaks, and pulls his wrists out of Rich's hand to swat at his head and shoulders. "Oh my god you're such an _asshole!_ "

Rich snickers helplessly, arms raised to defend himself. "That's where it's all going anyway!" he protests. "What am I supposed to do, I've only got one hand, the other one's being cuffs! —Careful, you'll get it all over the sheets!"

"Warn me!" Chuck says, screechy with affront. "Oh my god! You're the worst, take your—stupid, nice dick and go home!"

"Aww, baby boy," Rich says, giving him a sad look and edging closer, "you don't want that. You want me and my nice dick to make it up to you." Setting the lube aside, he reaches between Chuck's legs where the slick is thoroughly spread around now, sliding his fingertips through it and pressing gently. "To tease you and get you hot and get you making those fucking hot noises you make…"

Chuck makes a few more growly noises, twisting and grumbling and generally making it difficult, but Rich has seen him when he's genuinely not in the mood and this isn't that. He eventually lets himself be wrestled down, huffing and panting and red in the face, swings a leg over Rich's shoulder and wrinkles his nose up at Rich.

"Make it up to me," he says.

"'Kay," Rich says, grinning down at him, and slicks his fingers by sliding them over Chuck's skin, gathering up the lube. "I, uh, seriously didn't think you'd mind that much," he admits, shrugging his free shoulder.

"...It was cold," Chuck grumbles, and makes a squeaky noise as Rich's finger slides into him, eyes unfocusing and grumpy expression shifting easily to something breathless and distracted. "Mm _mh_. Mm, yeah. Get in there, gimme two, come _on_."

"Pushy," Rich snickers, and obeys anyway, sliding both fingers all the way in to rub at Chuck's prostate for a while. Chuck rides them eagerly, rolls his hips into it and gives Rich a brief, hot look, side-long under his lashes, lower lip pinned in his teeth.

"Gimme," he mumbles again, and wriggles down further onto Rich's hand.

"Fuck," Rich groans, hips twitching against thin air. "God, you're so fucking _hot_ , cut it out, I need that brain for later." He pulls his hand back, slides three fingers back in more carefully. His other hand shifts the leg Chuck has over his shoulder, strokes along the thigh.

It's a little more awkward to work him open while he's on his back instead of facing away, but it's so much better getting to watch Chuck's face as Rich fingers him, the way he gasps or shivers or arches. Rich isn't holding his wrists anymore, but he keeps his hands above his head anyway, wrists crossed, _being good._ His dick is hard and flushed and slick against his belly, and Rich can see it twitch when Rich's fingers work over his prostate, he's so _fucking cute._

"You're so sexy," Rich murmurs, "so good for me, look at you, all spread out and gorgeous and holding still. So pretty. I could just fuckin'... keep you like this for days, make you squirm and beg on my fingers, make you ask for more. Think you'd like that, babe?"

"...Fuck," Chuck moans, and his hands clench, find the blankets and knot up in them so hard they shake. "Ahh, god yeah, that—yeah—" he falters, laughs shakily. "—Got a, a project to—if you wanna turn it in for me you can keep me wherever you _nnh_ hn, ah! Wh-whatever you want! Fuck!"

Rich gives him a sly, thoughtful smile, runs a finger of his free hand along Chuck's dick, then down to rub his perineum for a minute, get the prostate from both sides. "Goddamn if it's not a tempting offer," he says. "I think I'll just let you think about it while you're working, though. And then every free minute you've got, I'll be over here working you up, making you shake for me. And maybe I'll let you come before I send you back to your project, or maybe not."

Chuck makes a rough little noise and then a louder one, clenches down hard. "Fuck," he moans, and grabs the pillow, pulls it down over his face and says something muffled and desperate through it. Shoves it back off again and manages "— _Wait,_ a second, gimme a se-ha _ah a second,_ gimme a second! God!"

Rich stops moving, holds his fingers still and leans his cheek on Chuck's bony lower leg, pleased. Chuck _likes_ the fingering, likes all the physical stuff, but it wouldn't have nearly as intense an effect if Rich didn't know how to push his other buttons too. It's nice to imagine being able to make someone, make Chuck, that happy. Being that important to him. Rich probably shouldn't think about it, but he does anyway.

"How you doing, baby boy?" he says, when Chuck's mostly stopped twitching and shuddering.

Chuck swallows, licks his lips. Scrubs a hand at his sweaty face and his watering eyes. "I…" he falters, breathing hard—slides a hand down his stomach and strokes his dick once or twice, then shudders and pulls his hand away again, making a shaky noise through his teeth. "Maybe—can…" he sniffs, glances down, hopeful and embarrassed. "After this one, I mean, this time, can I, uh…?

He gets uncertain about the weirdest stuff, but Rich can't be a dick about it when Chuck's all sex-shaky and vulnerable. "Yeah, for sure," he says, stroking his free hand down Chuck's thigh again. Tilts his head to one side. "You still want my dick?"

God, when Chuck shivers it runs through his whole body, down his arms to clench his hands in the sheets, tensing his thighs against Rich's sides, tightening him down on Rich's fingers like a fucking _dream._ He nods, fast and encouragingly desperate.

Rich licks his lips and pulls his fingers free, slicks up his dick fast and hooks Chuck's other leg over his shoulder. He lifts Chuck's hips up with a hand in the small of his back, guides the tip of his dick in with the other, and slowly, carefully lets Chuck sink down on him, controlling himself tightly to hold still. Chuck breathes long and slow, every other breath coming out a breathless " _oh_ " or " _fuck_ " or some garbled version of _"god you're so big that's so much,_ fuck". Rich manages to hold still until Chuck's breathing eases and his hips shift a little, a second away from restless, and then Rich folds Chuck's legs back against his chest, holds his hips up, and starts moving, slow and careful at first.

He only thrusts once or twice before Chuck starts to get restless, squirming and arching in a hungry attempt to make Rich go faster. He doesn't have the best angle, but he's making a good attempt, half-lifting himself on his shoulders and grinding down on Rich's dick.

Rich has to laugh, breathless and rasping. "Really, man? Need it that much, huh?"

" _Yes,"_ Chuck says, and it sounds like he means it to be a snap, but it comes out as more of a pleading moan. "What part offf _fuck_ , what part of 'give it to me', did, did you _nnh_ , not get?!"

"Oh, well, in _that_ case," Rich says, and shoves his hands under Chuck's back to just pick him up. Settling him on Rich's dick, Rich supports his weight carefully and edges to the side, the cot protesting. It's easier once he stands up and can just hoist Chuck thoughtfully, eyeing him.

"I _could_ just fuck you like this," Rich says. "The wall might be helpful for balance and leverage, though. What do you think, sexy?"

" _Nerd,_ " Chuck sniggers, and then groans as Rich lifts him against the wall and presses him there, pinning Chuck with his weight. "Fuck! Yeah, okay, please, Rich, I've been good, fuck me up against the wall, _please._ "

"Since you ask so nicely," Rich gasps, and starts rocking into him at a much quicker pace. Chuck holds onto him, digs his nails in and makes a phenomenal amount of noise and just— _takes it._ When Rich gets him at just the right angle, Chuck whimpers on every thrust, and it doesn't take long before he's leaning all his weight on Rich's grip and letting himself be used, letting Rich have him.

"Here," he gasps, after a long minute, and grabs at Rich's shoulders, kissing his jaw, trying to reach his mouth, clinging to him. "I'm gonna, this time, please, this time, please, I wanna come, Rich _please—!_ "

"I gotcha," Rich rasps, and kisses Chuck hard, trying to keep his rhythm steady. It's getting harder to control himself as he gets closer—not just the tremor of his hands and the jerk of his hips, but feelings and words pushing at him, things he doesn't usually let himself think about too hard. A thousand things he wants to say, _you're so fucking gorgeous, I love the way you move, you're so smart it's fucking incredible, you're sexy in a hundred different ways and you don't believe in any of them, I wish you did, I wish I could tell you how important you are, that I think you're amazing, that I really fucking like you—_ but even the ones he'd be willing to say out loud, he doesn't have breath for.

Chuck kisses him back, uncoordinated and gasping, and then lets out a shivering moan into the kiss. Comes hard, spasming in Rich's arms, arches his back and actually _screams._ Chuck's always loud, always reactive, but he's so self-conscious about it, always muffling himself and holding back. He's not holding back now.

He keeps clenching down on Rich's dick as he comes, too, even as he starts to subside into whimpering aftershocks—gets one hand to Rich's hair, his cheek, petting him jerkily. "C'mon," he mumbles, and hooks an arm around Rich's neck, holds himself up just long enough to kiss him hard. "Wanna make you—come on you're so hot, feels—I want— Come on…"

How the fuck anyone would resist that, Rich doesn't know. He slams into Chuck two more times and curls over him as all thought disintegrates into shivery bliss.

Drifts back to himself a few minutes or eons later and groans softly. "God," he mutters, and shifts his grip on Chuck to carry him back to his cot, set him down on his back and carefully pull out. "You okay, man?"

"Mmm," says Chuck, and gets his arms back around Rich's shoulders to kind of chew sleepily on his neck. Sucks on one of his ears, and snickers tiredly when that makes Rich shudder and hiss at him. "Mmlove your dick. 'S good. Rest of you's nice too. 'S all good."

That absolutely shouldn't make Rich come over all soft and warm, but it really fucking does. He huffs at Chuck, rolls his eyes a little like he's not grinning dopily. "Yeah, well, you're not so bad either."

He kisses Chuck before untangling himself from his clinging arms and goes over to the desk, rummaging in the drawers to bring back a half-empty box of hygiene wipes. Taking one to clean up himself, he taps the box on Chuck's shoulder.

"Come on, man, you're gonna wake up glued to your sheets if you don't get some of that lube off."

Chuck makes a lot of incoherent grumbling noises, then snatches the box grumpily out of Rich's hands and sets about carefully wiping himself down, wincing a little when he has to get to his dick, making shuddering little sounds through his teeth and twitching a lot. Rich kind of prickles to uncomfortable attention, wondering if he's okay, if he's sore now, if Rich did too much. Then Chuck throws the used wipe vaguely in Rich's direction, grunts in dissatisfaction when he misses by a mile, and curls into a little ball of lanky limbs on the cot, apparently with the intention of just passing out naked on top of his blankets.

He seems like he'll be fine, Rich decides, rolling his eyes again. He grabs the box of wipes and the bottle of lube, discarded in the sheets, and puts them back where they came from, because _he_ knows how to clean up after himself, and then shifts Chuck around as necessary to get the bedclothes pulled over instead of under him.

There's a knot of tension growing in Rich's gut, now that they're done, the distraction is over—a lurking awareness of a whole host of nasty feelings just waiting for a quiet moment to spring. Just the barest edges of those feelings themselves beginning to creep into view, bitter and sharp, and flashes of the moments that spawned them _—_ Larsson's hand tight in Rich's hair, a cruel tug on one clamped nipple, the edge of the pool table digging into his hips _—_

He shoves it all down, finishes tucking Chuck in.

"There," he says, ruffling Chuck's hair, and leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Enjoy your nap, Squeaks."

"Mnh, hey," Chuck says, and reaches out, grabs at Rich's wrist. "Hey, d'n. You don't—don't hafta go. Hey, c'mere." He tugs a little. Says it again, a little firmer. "Don't go."

Rich blinks. The plan, insofar as it's only just finished forming, is to go off and find some private corner, if Nate's still busy in Rich's cube, and quietly have the incipient breakdown there. Chuck not cooperating is an unforeseen difficulty.

"I," Rich says, and swallows. "Seriously?"

" _C'mere,_ " Chuck says, louder, and untwists from his sleepy curl to reach for Rich with both hands, looking up at him with dark, bleary eyes, a soft look that feels kind of like it's stabbing Rich in the heart. Chuck scoots back on the cot, opening up as much space as he can.

Rich closes his eyes a second, because tearing up now, over this, after a completely fantastic round of sex, would be astoundingly dumb. He gets onto the cot, stretching out sort of on his side and sort of on his stomach, sort of leaning against Chuck. Except Rich's nipples object to the stomach idea, and that part of his ass objects to the side idea.

Rich shifts around a little, picks his side and just lies still. He'll probably fall asleep eventually.

Chuck cuddles up, and then cuddles a little closer, and then rolls over and scoots himself back on the cot until he's curled up against Rich's chest, takes one of Rich's arms and pulls it over him. Pats Rich's wrist, pulls that hand up to his face and kisses his knuckles messily, and Rich's heart kind of detonates even before Chuck yawns, sleepy enough to be adorably unselfconscious for once, and drops his hand again.

"Y'r good," Chuck says quietly, and goes still and relaxed in Rich's arms, sighing out a long breath. "Stay."

Goddammit. Rich closes his eyes, presses his hand against Chuck's chest, feels his heartbeat. Breathes in the clean scent of his hair. It's like the little fucker's doing this on purpose, like he knows about the feelings Rich isn't admitting to and he's just—feeding them on purpose.

Except Rich knows him and Chuck wouldn't believe anyone felt like that about him if he was a fucking telepath. So, no, Rich is just being dumb.

God, this feels nice, warm and quiet and… affectionate, maybe. That seems safe to say, not too presumptuous or like Rich is attributing too much to it. Chuck asking Rich to stay is, like, not just a hook-up kind of thing. Like he likes Rich, actually likes him. Like he cares.

Rich noses Chuck's hair aside to press a light kiss to the back of his neck. Chuck makes a warm little noise and wiggles back against him, blissfully ignorant to Rich's inner turmoil. Squeezes his wrist, and then relaxes again.

Rich closes his eyes and breathes. Holds Chuck a little tighter, pushes everything else away for tomorrow. He'll deal with it all then. Right now he has a soundly-fucked Chuck persistently snuggling him, and a soft startled warmth in his chest, and it's a lot more than he expected. He only has to struggle to hold onto the peace for a few minutes before he slips into sleep.


End file.
